


In Answer To A Prayer

by The_Jade_Goblin



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 07:29:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5776906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Jade_Goblin/pseuds/The_Jade_Goblin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assan Lavellan simply can't get used to Skyhold and the company of humans. He fidgets and twitches and looks to skies with longing, but his companions opinions of the Chantry dismissing his beliefs tips him over the edge. Dorian aims to change that, with some help from a few Dalish friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OctoberSkies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctoberSkies/gifts).



> Featuring Varlen Lavellan, Inquisitor belonging to OctoberSkies, and mentions of Riven Lavellan, also an Inquisitor that is not mine. The only Inquisitor that belongs to me here is Assan Lavellan.

The arrow impaled the target in the dead centre, as always. Dorian wasn’t sure why Assan even practised, he was the perfect shot. Dorian had never once seen him miss. Still, it amused him to watch the elf train. He often did it in the afternoons when the soldiers had returned to the barracks and the archery range was quiet. It worked out that Dorian was usually returning from the Chantry at the same time, and always stopped to watch. Dorian wasn’t overly religious, but sometimes he admitted he needed to take guidance from the Maker after half of the incredibly dangerous and life-threatening situations they so often got into.

“Finished your prayers Dorian?” Assan asked, not even turning around as he aimed another arrow, knowing it could only be Dorian behind him.

“For today,” Dorian sighed.

“Does He hear you, do you think? Your Maker?” Assan glanced back at him briefly, loosing the arrow, which of course hit the target dead on, despite Assan not even looking.

“That a serious question?” Dorian said, raising an eyebrow. He had a feeling he was being mocked. He didn’t like being mocked.

Assan blinked, looking confused. “Of course. You pray almost every day, you would not pray if He didn’t listen.”

“And do your Gods listen to you when you pray?” Dorian asked sardonically.

Assan turned his back on the targets, closing his eyes and raising his bow and arrow behind him. “Andruil guides my arrows. She is my eyes, and she never falters. She gives me strength, so that _I_ never falter. I never miss.” He loosed the arrow, hitting its mark perfectly.

Dorian was impressed, he actually almost believed Assan’s arrows were led by a god’s will.

Assan turned back to the targets. He raised his bow again. “Mythal guides me, protects me and my loved ones. I pray to her for guidance, and she gives it in many ways. Elgar’nan gives me vengeance on my enemies, he is the anger that dwells in me, the All-Father that lets me seek my own path.”

Another arrow hit its mark. “Falon’Din guides my people into death, and so shall he guide me when comes my time to die. By his grace I have been given more time than I should have, I have cheated death many times, and will greet him as a friend when he takes me to the Beyond.”

Assan glanced back at Dorian, who seemed enraptured by his speech. “Dirthamen gives me knowledge, I pray to him for wisdom and he bestows it upon me, giving me the strength to put my faith in my friends, to give my loyalty to those I trust. Sylaise is my healer, to whom all wounds go to heal, and from her I take comfort in my darkest times.”

He turned back to the targets, but his bow was still in his hands now. “Ghilan’nain gives me direction, the will to keep going. She gave me the gift of the halla I ride, friends I take comfort in. And Fen’Harel, he gives me swiftness of feet, the ability to lie and hide and sneak among my enemies, the trickster in me is the trickster in him. I pray to each of them in times of need, and they answer.”

He looked back at Dorian. “So yes, my Gods listen to me when I pray. Does yours?”

Dorian blinked, and swallowed hard. He had heard faith before. Heard it in Cassandra, in Leliana, even himself to an extent. But Assan’s faith was more than that, it wasn’t faith it was…fact. It was life. His faith was not a choice, and active struggle to believe in something bigger than himself, but a lifestyle. Everything that made up Assan, all his characteristics and his abilities, he believed were given to him by his Gods, and by extension, he himself, like all elves, were the embodiment of their Gods. It wasn’t just a belief to him, it was truth. Simply how it was, there was no other way.

“The Creators are gone now, but they watch the elves from their prison,” Assan said, aiming another arrow at a target. “They come to their people when it is needed.”

“I wish I had such certainly in my God,” Dorian sighed. “And I don’t think He hears me by the way. I don’t think any of us really believe He listens.”

“Then why pray?”

“Because, not to pray would be admitting He’s not there.” Dorian answered. “And that thought is too much to bear. We pray in the hopes that one day He will listen, that one day He will hear us, and answer.”

“That’s why humans pray. Why do _you_ pray?” Assan asked.

“I…” Dorian faltered. Why _did_ he pray? He was not as devout as some of the Andrastians in their company, but he still believed. “I pray because it gives me strength. It gives me some comfort in knowing someone _could_ hear my words. The Maker doesn’t need me to believe, but I do.”

Assan nodded slowly, as if that made perfect sense. It probably did to him. Assan had no trouble with his own faith, he had absolute certainty, like the Qunari had in the Qun. Dorian wanted to have the same confidence the Maker, but while they had seen time and time again evidence of the elven gods, there had been no sign of the Maker, even in the Black City.

“I should get back to my books.” Dorian said eventually.

“ _Dareth shiral_ ,” Assan said absently, softly, almost to himself. “Mythal guide you Dorian, if your Maker won’t. May the Dread Wolf never catch your scent.”

Dorian wondered upon those words for a long time. Most people gave Andraste’s blessing as a farewell, but to have been given an elven blessing seemed different, seemed…more. He’d heard _Andraste bless you_ and _Maker be with you_ so many times in his life it had almost lost all meaning. But _Mythal guide you_? As if Mythal would consider guiding a human. If the elven gods existed, something Dorian was seeing more evidence of lately, it made sense for Assan to have their blessing, but to bestow it on him? An elven god would sooner curse a human of Tevinter than bless him. He sighed. He was reading too much into this, he must be. It was a farewell among the Dalish, just as Andraste’s blessing was among humans. But still, it meant a lot to Dorian, that Assan would extend his God's blessing to him, as if he deserved their guidance. 


	2. Chapter 2

He liked Assan, he had to admit. He liked him quite a lot. He liked the way Assan tasted, he liked his woodsy smell, he liked his easy smile and his flushed cheeks. He liked him more than he probably should. Assan liked him as well, if the lingering looks and gentle words were anything to go by. They had had their differences in the past, but it was different now.  Now Dorian noticed things. Little things, like the way Assan would murmur in Elvish to himself when he was thinking hard. Or how he’d bite at his lower lip when he was worried, or tug at the amulet he wore when bored. Dorian knew the difference between the smile he gave when Dorian complimented him, and the smile he gave when addressing an Orlesian noble. He noticed when Assan’s fingers brushed purposely against his when handing him a book, and the warmth of his shoulder when he leaned too close as they trekked over the countryside. He noticed the look in his eye when they passed by elven statues, whispering prayers as they walked over ruined temples.

He noticed Assan’s cheek twitch too. It got worse when they heard the Chant being sung in the Chantry. Dorian himself never attended Mother Giselle’s services, but he watched Assan twitch in the chair beside him, glaring at the window and twitching violently. He twitched when Cassandra went on about the Maker, and he twitched when Sera bad-mouthed the elven gods. He even twitched when Dorian made his prayers, though he never said anything. The twitching was like the calm before the storm. The twitching honestly made Dorian uneasy.

And then, Dorian witnessed the storm itself. He hadn’t seen Assan all day, which should have been warning enough; Assan had locked himself in his room and refused anyone to see him, nor he to come out until the war council convened that night. The morning before he’d been woken by the sounds of angry shouting in elvish, and was curious and slightly alarmed to see Solas and Assan arguing below the library. Though he understood none of the words the two elves shouted at one another, he caught glimpse of the murderous glare Assan wore on his face, an expression he (thankfully) wasn’t at all familiar with, and it (unthankfully) frightened him. He thought it best to avoid the Inquisitor while he was in this mood. Though he found that he couldn’t sit still and do his research while he could think of nothing but the anger on Assan’s face.

Assan was very attractive, and Dorian decided he didn’t like anger to be contorting his handsome features. The thought of the elf being so upset he’d been arguing with Solas, someone to whom he had great respect, didn’t sit well with Dorian. He wanted to find Assan and ask what was wrong, and yet…the emotional attachment that that action implied weighed even heavier on Dorian’s mind. To do that would to admit he cared. But he _did_ care. He cared deeply. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to let that show. Was he? Assan knew he cared didn’t he? But Dorian wasn’t like Assan. The elf wore his heart on his sleeve, it was obvious he went to great lengths to take care of his loved ones and keep them safe and happy. Dorian was no exception to this. He’d never found such easy acceptance anywhere but with Assan. Assan meant more to him than he liked to admit. He was his friend, his confident, his lover…dare he say his _amatus_. The very thought of using that word to describe Assan made Dorian shiver, though with what emotion he could not name. If he was truly to be his _amatus_ , then Dorian should be there when he was needed.

“You keep frowning like that your face will get stuck like that Dorian,” a chuckle came from behind. “And then you’ll be sorry. Ruin your fine looks it would,”

“Varlen,” Dorian greeted, turning from the window he’d been indeed frowning at, and taking in the long silver-haired elf. “I didn’t realise my face was of interest to you,”

“It would be of no interest to me only if I was blind Dorian,” Varlen smirked. “Anyone with eyes that work however, that’s fair game.”

Dorian smirked back.

Varlen was an interesting one. He was yet another Dalish living in Skyhold, a friend of Assan’s from a time he refused to speak about. Dorian didn’t know much about the other elf save that he spent generous amounts of time with his twin sister Riven and Assan when not in the field, and was an exceptional dualist. Still, Dorian considered him a friend, and he was pleasant company. Better than most who turned their noses up at him, too good for the likes of the Tevinter mage.

“Thinking about our fearless leader are we?” Varlen did seem to have a way of knowing what everyone was thinking. “I saw him going through the courtyard just now looking like a storm cloud. Cassandra didn’t look much happier, I think they fought.”

He’s fighting with Cassandra too?

Dorian frowned. “What is going on with that elf?” he muttered to himself. “Did he say anything to you Varlen?” he asked the elf.

Varlen sighed and leaned against a bookshelf. “Assan shares very little with me these days. I fear that’s my fault. We had…something of a falling out a week ago, something both of us are too proud to apologise for. I think his problem, whatever it is, started with me. I feel I should make it right, but I wouldn’t know how.”

“A falling out over what if I might ask?” Dorian inquired. This could be a valuable piece of information after all.

Varlen clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Something ridiculous now I think about it. I feel somewhat responsible for his anger. Lethallin is feeling isolated.”

“Isolated?” Dorian frowned.

“Like me he’s been cut off from his clan, surrounded by humans. I don’t have any particular problem with humans, but lethallin has a bad history with them and not being able to be around our people is getting to him. He just misses the company of other elves.”

“I know Sera and Solas are hardly good company to a Dalish, but he has you and Riven doesn’t he?”

“It’s not exactly the same Dorian. Assan _is_ very happy to have Riven and I here with him, but I myself am not like other Dalish. I don’t put much stock into our gods for example, and don’t really have the pride he does. That frustrates him. He’s a very proud elf Dorian, and he is respectful of my views but at the same time he misses people who share his opinions. It’s not anyone’s fault. He’s merely homesick.” Varlen explained.

“I know how he feels,” Dorian muttered.

Varlen blinked, as though he hadn’t even occurred to him until now. “Oh. I’m sorry Dorian I didn’t even think –”

“No it’s alright. I just understand what he’s feeling. Being the only one of kind around isn’t exactly easy.” Dorian dismissed.

“Hm. You might be right about that. In fact…you might be just what he needs,” Varlen’s eyes flashed with a hint of crazy, a plan forming in his mind. 

“Me? I hardly think he wants to see a Tevinter mage while missing his people,” Dorian said dryly. “I’m the last thing he wants, or needs for that matter,”

“Oh that’s debateable,” Varlen chuckled softly. “You obviously don’t see the way he looks at you. You’re exactly what he needs. If you can’t cheer him up I don’t think anyone can.”

Dorian snorted in disbelief.

“It’s true,” Varlen laughed at the incredulous look on the mage’s face. “I’m serious Dorian. You two aren’t exactly a match made in heaven but you’re the next best thing,”

Varlen amused himself for a moment watching Dorian splutter and seemingly choke on air while turning bright scarlet. He rolled his eyes and looked at the mage smugly. He would have made another witty comment, but the moment was disrupted by a loud crash, one that startled them both to full alertness. They looked at each other, curious but not willing to find out if that was Assan destroying the hall or not.

“Solas?” Varlen called down, moving to the balcony. “What was that?”

“Well, if it was the Inquisitor, we might have to consider moving to another castle,” Solas frowned, clearly unamused. “Like a bratty child throwing a tantrum,”

“Oh you’re just sore because you two had a spat yesterday morning. Honestly you and he are like an old married couple,” Varlen rolled his eyes.

“I fail to see the comparison _da’len_ ,” Solas said seriously.

Varlen muttered a retort to himself but said nothing to the older elf. The door opened and a sheepish-looking dwarf trundled in, Bianca in his hands. Well, if that wasn’t an image to cause alarm, Dorian didn’t know what was.   

“I’m guessing you all heard that right?” Varric asked. At the collective nods he received, he sighed. “Well it was the Inquisitor alright. Mother Giselle overstepped her boundaries on our leader’s patience just a tad I think. No one’s hurt and the table flipping over wasn’t actually intentional, that part was an accident. Luckily we had no nobles in the hallway to witness the display, but Treetops is just about ready to do a runner I think,”

“He’s leaving?” Dorian’s eyes widened. Assan wouldn’t just leave like that would he?

“He’s damn close to it, if he wasn’t already.” Varric answered. “Somebody _please_ listen to that guy’s problems, for the sake of the world. I think he’s tired of being dismissed by everyone here.”

“He’s not dismissed –” Solas started, then cut himself off as he thought about it.

It was true. Assan’s faith in the elven gods were dismissed largely by everyone in their party, discarded as ridiculous nonsense. His opinions on elves went unheard, and his distaste for politics and lies uncared about. There were many things about Assan that no one even knew, because no one cared to ask, or even to listen when he spoke.

“…Ah.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Varlen looked resolved and ready to move but Dorian stopped him.

“No, I’ll do it. Out of you lot I’m the only one he hasn’t seen this whole time, I haven’t fought with him either. I think I can manage to listen to him,”

Varlen looked insufferably pleased with himself and Dorian reminded himself to store that smug look away for later what he plotted his revenge, but nevertheless he headed himself up to the Inquisitor’s chambers.  

The room wasn’t entirely a mess, but it was certainly heading down that road. Assan flew furiously from one end of the room to the other, and seemed to packing away his things. Not exactly a good sign.

“Something I said?” he tried joking, coming to the top of the stairs.

Assan spared him a glance before he resumed his task. “Dorian.” He said shortly. “I forgot you even lived here.”

“Forget me? And my charming wit and handsome face? Perish the thought,” that earned him a small smile, and Assan slowed in his furious packing. “I thought giving you space would be best, but it seems I’ve been mistaken.”

“Oh. You’re referring to my behaviour lately,” Assan sighed. “It’s nothing to do with you Dorian, there’s no need to feel sorry or anything. I’m just...very frustrated.”

“Frustrated enough to leave us I see,” Dorian commented. “You can’t just go,”

“And why not?” Assan asked disdainfully. “What have _shemlen_ ever done for me exactly? I’ve been going at full speed ever since I woke up from the explosion at the Conclave, a place I wasn’t even supposed to be, and for what? Hm? To save Thedas?”

“Yes, of course to save Thedas. You’re the only one who can,” Dorian said firmly.

“Peachy.” Assan snorted. “Maybe Thedas deserves to burn.”

“Assan! You can’t mean that!” Dorian gaped.

“Can’t I?” Assan raised an eyebrow. “What good have the people of this world done Dorian? This world was beautiful before _shemlen_ came along and ruined it. _Shemlen_ destroy anything they don’t understand, anything that is different! _Shemlen_ stole my people’s homeland, they destroyed and enslaved my people! _Shemlen_ took my sister from me! They took my mother! They took my _freedom_! And I have to run around risking my life to save _them_!? Why should I? Would a _shemlen_ lift a finger to save me, to save an elf? If our places were reversed, would you risk your life for mine?!”

“Yes. I would.” Dorian answered.

Assan blinked, clearly not expecting that answer.

“I admit, once upon a time my answer would have been no. I know humans – my people – have taken so much from the elves and I myself was taught to think of elves as less than us. But I was wrong, and we are wrong. Together we can teach the people of Thedas that, show them a different way.” Dorian took several steps towards Assan. “I know you’re angry, but somehow, I don’t think this is what you’re really upset about Assan, so tell me what’s really bothering you.”

“I can’t breathe in here,” Assan admitted with a sigh. “This place is stifling. Dorian I miss the forest, I miss the sky over my head, I can’t breathe in this cold stone place, it’s lifeless and dead here.”

He began to pace, and Dorian went about discreetly putting his things back in place. “I’ve heard that Dalish elves are uncomfortable living in buildings. Is it that bad for you?”

“I was born on the plains of Ghilain’nan,” Assan sighed. “I was raised in the woods and in the fields. Being here…I feel trapped. Trapped again, surrounded by _shemlen_ again. They hide behind their smiles and whisper knife-ear behind my back. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of the _shem_ and their blatant disregard for others. And! There’s no trees here Dorian! There’s no halla here! No elves that carry the old ways! I can’t live in a place so disconnected from my gods and nature as this it’s driving me insane!”

Assan looked very ready to cry, and that was the last thing Dorian wanted to endure. He walked to his side, cautiously putting his hand on Assan’s shoulder, silently asking permission to hold him. Assan nodded, and let himself get tugged into Dorian’s arms. He sighed heavily, resting his head against Dorian’s shoulder.

“There’s nowhere here for me to make my prayers,” he murmured. “I hear the Chant of Light so much, the people here have places and people to take faith in, but I don’t. And for a Dalish to be so cut-off from nature…it’s torture.”

“Where could you pray?” Dorian asked. “What can I do to get you there?”

“Oh, thank you, but you need not worry,” Assan replied, but he smiled a little at the thought. “I appreciate it though Dorian. It’s not really the issue, not exactly. I just want…I just want my faith to be acknowledged. Everyone here is ready to accept the Maker and those who believe in Him, but speak one word of my gods and you get looks like you’re a madman. Cassandra scoffs at my faith like its primitive nonsense, as though hers is gospel despite having zero proof. She asked me once if I believed in the Maker, and since I believe in so many gods already, could I not have room for one more, but what would I need a _shemlen_ god for? The Maker is a story humans made up to explain the beginning of the world, but the elves have their own stories, I don’t need yours. I just…ugh I don’t know, ignore me Dorian I’m just being stupid. As usual.”

Assan pushed away from Dorian and stepped away, running a tired hand through his hair and heading to the balcony. Dorian followed.

“It’s not stupid at all, it’s a very valid feeling Assan, you have every right to be upset when everyone at every turn is forcing the Maker down your throat and invalidating your beliefs.” Dorian said.

“No, no it’s fine. I am after all, the only elf around here who gives a damn about our pantheon. I’m just not used to being argued with. I need to get used to it, this is the human’s world not mine. I belong in the woods, not…not here. This isn’t my place.” Assan sighed sadly, and leaned over the balcony.

Dorian bit his lip, and came to stand beside him. He leaned his shoulder on Assan’s, and placed one hand over his.

“I know what you mean in that regard at least,” he murmured. “Being out of place, not belonging anywhere.”

Assan gave a small smile. “Guess we’re both outsiders here,” he answered. “I don’t know why but that gives me great comfort.”

“Then I’m glad,” Dorian smiled.

“It must be so much worse for you Dorian. I’m so sorry I didn’t even think,” Assan frowned. “Here I am complaining and I forgot that most people distrust you on sight and hate you on principle alone. I wouldn’t know anything about being unwelcome when compared to you,”

“Then let’s not compare.” Dorian shrugged. “The people trust you barely more than they trust me. We’re both misjudged, being an elf is just slightly better than being Tevinter. It’s not much better, but it’s something. At least the religion here is familiar to me,”

Assan sighed, and hummed in agreement. There was a comfortable silence then, Dorian absently stroking the back of Assan’s hand with his thumb. Assan rested his head on Dorian’s shoulder and closed his eyes, letting out a long breath.       

“ _Ma_ _serannas_ Dorian,” he whispered. “I needed that.”

“So you’re not leaving now?” Dorian grinned.

Assan smirked. “What would you do without me hm? Get eaten by a giant probably.”

“I’m too handsome to be eaten, the giant would simply compliment my outfit and leave me be,” Dorian replied.

Assan laughed, and the angry tears disappeared from the corners of his eyes. It was nice to hear him laugh again. That was what he needed, someone to listen to him, that’s all. Someone to listen and to accept him. Dorian could do that much. In fact, he may be able to do much more…

“I should apologise to a lot of people,” Assan bit his lip. “I haven’t been very accommodating lately,”

“You’re the Inquisitor you don’t need to apologise for anything,” Dorian said.

Assan chuckled. “Maybe not, but I still will.”

He straightened, and lifted himself onto his tiptoes to kiss Dorian’s cheek. He smiled, and bid Dorian farewell for now, before making his way out of the room and down the stairs, calling another thanks over his shoulder. Dorian smiled. This helping business was quite pleasant, he could see why Assan liked it so much.


	3. Chapter 3

Skyhold returned very much to normal after that, but Dorian couldn’t get his mind off Assan’s outburst. It was clear Assan’s problem persisted, his cheek twitched very often nowadays, and Dorian was sure he didn’t even notice it anymore. He made no more angry arguments with anyone, and had no breakdowns thanks to a word to Josephine from Dorian (something the Inquisitor was as of yet, unaware of) that made her insist Assan be sent into the field with some of Leliana’s scouts, helping them navigate the woods. Being able to be among the trees more often made him much happier, so he overlooked his religion being tucked away in a corner, but Dorian couldn’t ignore it.

He asked questions now. He was curious of Assan’s people, and he found out the elf was enthusiastic to tell him. He was thankful Dorian even cared to learn.

“Tell me something, I’m curious.” He’d say.

Assan would chuckle, and kiss him, taking his hands in his. “What would you like to know this time?” he’d always ask.

He’d been thinking about this for a while now. More than a while actually. A week previously, Assan had gone to ridiculous lengths to retrieve his family amulet for him, which made Dorian all the more determined to do something for him. His opportunity came in the sound of footsteps.

“Dorian,” Assan chuckled as he walked into his little alcove. “Have you even moved since this morning?”

“I moved more onto my left side.” Dorian said matter-of-factly.

Assan shook his head fondly. “Have you a moment?”

“For you? Of course.” Dorian put away his book and stood up. “Something on your mind?”

“You mean other than you?” Assan smirked.

Dorian chuckled. “Come to steal me away have you?”

“If you have the time.”

“I always have the time to be stolen away by you _amatus_ , lead the way.”

Assan quirked an eyebrow at the endearment, and for a moment Dorian froze, realising he had finally used the word out loud. But then the elf giggled – though he’d never admit he _giggles_ – and took Dorian’s hand.

Dorian had to admit he adored Assan’s smile, he adored his laugh and he adored the flush of his cheeks. He adored the elf, he was quickly becoming smitten and he found himself not really minding at all. One could hardly mind anything when one had the Inquisitor’s lips pressed against theirs.

“I think I’ve taken enough of your attention today,” Dorian chuckled, looking down at Assan curled up in his arms. “I think I hear Josephine calling you,”

“Ugh,” was Assan’s only response, and he buried his face further into Dorian’s shirt, making him chuckle, and run his fingers along his long ears, which always made the elf shiver.

Josephine did eventually come to collect the Inquisitor for a council meeting, and Dorian seized his chance to put his plan into action.

“Varlen!” Dorian moved through the keep to the sparring grounds where Varlen and his sister were training.

“Well if it isn’t my favourite Tevinter mage,” Varlen smirked at him. “What can I do for you Dorian?”

“I need to ask you some questions about your people,” Dorian said.

“You can’t ask Assan?” Varlen raised an eyebrow.

“If I asked him he’d catch on to what I’m planning,” Dorian explained.

“A surprise for the Inquisitor?” Riven asked wandering over to them. “Can I help? What are we planning?”

Varlen chuckled at her enthusiasm. “What do you need to know Dorian?”

“I need to know more about your gods,”

“Ah.” Varlen winced slightly. “To be honest I never cared enough to learn too much about them, but I’ll answer if I can.”

“Very well, I need to know each one of the pantheon and what they represent. Also, do the Dalish have places for worship precisely?”

Dorian spent the better part of two days extracting what information he could from Riven, Varlen and Assan himself, even going as far as to ask Solas a few things none of the Dalish themselves knew. He was very reclusive after that for the next few weeks, needing time to execute his idea and make it a reality, and with their team constantly being abroad fighting evil, time in Skyhold grew less in occurrence. He wouldn’t give up however, this was something he wanted to do for Assan, he knew how immensely happy it would make him, and he wanted nothing more than to see that smile directed at him.

 “Dorian I hate this,” Assan whined, poking at Dorian’s hands that were covering his eyes.

Dorian shushed him. “Just a moment longer _amatus_ , we’re almost there.”

“Almost where exactly? What are you planning Dorian?”

“You’ll see, you’ll see. You’ll like it I promise,” Dorian chuckled.

“You are so lucky I trust you,” Assan muttered.

“Oh hush, we’re here now.” Dorian led Assan into the room. “Keep your eyes close, _no_ peaking.”

Assan grumbled to himself while Dorian closed the door and went back to him. He’d chosen one of the little rooms beside the gardens, one where the roof wasn’t quite fixed, letting in the sunlight and the rain. He looked around, admiring his handiwork.

“You can look now,” he whispered.

Assan’s bright green eyes opened with an annoyed expression on his face that quickly melted into one of surprise, then astonishment, then finally awe. Assan’s head whipped around, trying to look at everything in the room at once. Inside the room Dorian had magically created a forest, a small pond in the centre with a running stream feeding it. Assan could feel the grass beneath his feet, hear the water, and see the small birds already nesting in the trees. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from anything, couldn’t even blink. At the very back of the room, in a cluster of small trees, lay statuettes. Statuettes of each and every elvehn god, surrounded by tiny little candles. Assan looked up, and gasped. It wasn’t just any tree that lay above the statuettes, in was a Three-Tree. The original tree lay far in the east, and was the birth of the elvehn religion, but this smaller version was an exact copy, something for him to pray under and keep to the old ways.

“Dorian…” Assan turned to look at the mage, tears in his eyes. “You did all this for me?”

“Well, I had a little help,” Dorian smiled self-consciously. “Varlen and Riven helped too. I wanted you to have somewhere proper where you could feel at ease, and make your prayers.”

Assan brushed away his tears with the ends of his sleeves, sniffling through a smile.

“Do you…is it…is it okay? Do you like it?” Dorian asked nervously.

“Okay? It’s perfect!” Assan cried, throwing his arms around Dorian. “Just like you, you perfect man you. I love it.”

Dorian chuckled, enjoying the feeling of Assan in his arms. He pressed his lips to his forehead. “It’s only fair that someone do something for you for once, after all the things you do for the rest of us.”

Assan looked up at the taller man, grinning inanely. “I could marry you right now Dorian, you know that?”

Dorian laughed. “Don’t say that too loud, you might as well put a sign on me that says ‘assassinate me before the Inquisitor gets influenced by an evil Magister’.”    

Assan shook his head fondly, and leaned up to kiss him. Dorian held his face in his hands, kissing him deeply, wondering for a moment if it was appropriate to do this here, but soon rational thought moved out of his head when he felt Assan’s hands gripping his hair slightly.

“ _Serannas_ ,” Assan whispered against his lips. “ _Ma_ _serannas_ Dorian. This means so much, I can’t possibly thank you enough,”

“As long as you keep smiling like that I’m happy,” Dorian replied.

He watched in satisfaction as the elf’s ears turned bright pink and that dusk flush appeared over his cheeks. That shy smile was everything to Dorian in that moment.

“Thank you _ma’arla_ ,” Assan murmured. “No one’s ever done anything like this before, thank you.”

Dorian waved away his thanks by kissing him again, though he wondered at the endearment. _Ma’arla_? What did that mean? He burned to ask Assan, but somehow he liked not knowing what it meant. That he had a pet name at all filled him with a warmth he couldn’t place.

When Dorian left the room, leaving Assan sitting in front of the statuettes, he looked over his shoulder at him, looking so peacefully and at ease, and he smiled. He turned to open the door, and Assan’s voice rang out to stop him.

“Ma’arla?”

He turned. The elf hadn’t shifted from his position. “Yes amatus?”

Dorian caught a brief glimpse of Assan’s smile. “I love you.”

Dorian’s heart stopped, and skipped a beat. He found he couldn’t breathe for several seconds, but somehow caught his breath again.  

“I just wanted you to know that,” Assan’s back straightened in his position.

Dorian smiled. “Could I possibly adore you more?”

Assan chuckled. “I highly doubt it, I’m so adorable after all.”

Rascal had been spending way too much time with Dorian.

“Off with you now, you’re distracting me,” Assan smirked.

“Come back tonight then,”

“Of course. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Dorian smiled. "Me neither." 


	4. Epilogue

In the trees it was quiet, save for the murmuring of prayers on Assan's lips, as he sat with his head bowed toward the statuette of Mythal. 

He had yet to thank Varlen and Riven for their help in creating this place for him. Truth be told, Assan was reluctant to see Varlen. Varlen wasn't wrong, they both tended to be too stubborn to apologise to one another when they argued, ans for this reason Assan had still been avoiding his fellow Dalish, despite Riven's scolding. 

He felt guilty, but the need to seek out the other elf became null and void when he heard footsteps behind him, and he looked up to see Varlen take a seat on the ground beside him.

Varlen gestured to the statuettes with his head, indicating Assan to continue the rite, and bowed his head as Assan continued. He slowly smiled, and Varlen peeked up at him, a smile on his lips. 

Dalish may be proud and stubborn people, but whatever their beliefs, they stood by each other in the end. And no words were needed between the two. 


End file.
